"Utterson, my good fellow," Mr Enfield greeted me with a genial smile, though a furrow on his brow hinted at an undercurrent of concern. "What's occurred? I heard a gunshot."
"Well, one of the butlers accidentally shot a boy who somehow ended up inside my residence. Luckily, the boy is alive, but we do need to call the doctors." Seeing Mr Enfield's (s/c) face turn from curious to utterly shocked, I sighed in distraught.
"Oh, great heavens! That sounds terrible! Is he catawamptiously chewed up?" He asked. I tried my best to not seem confused, as I just nodded. I think he only meant if the boy was badly harmed.
"To my fear, yes. I told the maids to come get the local doctors for help." I frowned in pity. Enfield nodded in understanding. "If I may ask, why did you come here this late in the evening?"
Enfield smiled melancholically at me. "I originally came so that we can have an evening chit-chat while we walk through London like we usually do on Sundays. The streets won't be too crowded at a time like this, and since tomorrow I'm going to Greenwich, we won't have time for our expected Sunday walks. That's the reason I stopped by."
I nodded at him, smiling slightly. "It would be a pleasure for us to take a stroll, but we need to return before the church's bells ring at midnight. Do you think we'd have enough time to talk?"
"Of course. I don't plan to keep you for so long, especially for the young wounded one. Let's walk down the main road!" Enfield suggested. I nodded.
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Mr Enfield and I stepped out into the gaslit streets of Victorian London, our breath visible in the chilly night air. The cobbled pathways echoed with the distant sounds of carriages and the muted footsteps of passersby. The city, shrouded in a curtain of mist, seemed to hold its secrets as we embarked on a stroll to discuss various subjects.
The gas lamps flickered as we traversed the winding alleys, their feeble glow casting long shadows against the brick facades of buildings. Mr. Enfield, his top hat pulled low against the cold, spoke with a measured tone, his words weaving a tapestry of reflection on the wounded boy.
"I still wonder how the poor child entered your house. He might be a juvenile delinquent, or he was sent here by somebody" he remarked.
I nodded in agreement, the weight of the situation settling on my shoulders. "He was most likely sent by somebody to steal my valuables. No child could hold that much foulness in them."
"I agree. Would you like to have a cup of char later this eveni-" Before Enfield could continue his question, we heard a scream in the distance. The sound of a child's screech. Oh god, could this be the scene where Hyde trampled the little girl in the first chapter?
I immediately took Enfield, and without even thinking, we began running towards the source of the scream. The secluded area where the sound came from was currently populated by two people: A little girl, no older than 8, dressed in her nightgown, who was currently on the cold cobblestone floor, lamenting cries of pain, as she couldn't even get up and next to her was a man, of short stature, no taller than 160 cm, dressed in a fancy coat, his dishevelled black curls seen underneath the tophat he was wearing.
